


Tiny snapshot

by Achilles_Angst



Category: Lockwood and co
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 11:49:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18992062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achilles_Angst/pseuds/Achilles_Angst
Summary: Wouldn’t usually post a chunk like this but oh wellCouldn’t be bothered to tag but this is Kippwood, don’t like don’t read guys.





	Tiny snapshot

Wolfjawswriter, this is your fault

The argument had started over something very stupid at the furnaces.  
It had escalated steadily in the taxi, and Lockwood is now properly annoyed. 

Quill rolls his eyes angrily at him as he drops his goggles on the thinking cloth and shifts, all the better to glower. 

" I’m bloody fine! I don’t care if I got stabbed months ago, I’m fine and I don’t need fucking babying!"   
Quill’s voice is spiky with anger, his eyes flashing.

Lockwood gives him his best you sad idiot face, which he’s honed throughout the years because he knows it annoys Quill most. 

" It’s less the wound and more your general aura of incompetence. "  
Quill snarls irately at that, stalking closer.   
" At least I don’t need adoring assistants to clear up after me!”

Lockwood snorts angrily. Lucy and George are working a case elsewhere, and Holly went home hours ago. If they’d been around, the fight would have peetered out by now.   
But it hasn’t.   
Something about Quill makes Lockwood want to push all his boundaries.

Lockwood doesn’t notice stepping forwards until Quill raises an eyebrow.   
"So you actually want a fight? Because I’d win.”   
Lockwood hisses back “ Like hell you would.”   
Because no. He would not. 

The space between them seems suddenly minute. Did he step forwards again?He could count every eyelash, each freckle. He could...  
And then their mouths are crashing together with a kind of ferocious hunger that makes Lockwood want to kiss Quill or kill him. 

Quill gets his hands into his hair, fingers tightening slightly around the strands he’s snared. Lockwood puts his hands on the small of his back like they’re magnetised there, drags him impossibly closer.

.”God” Quill whispers furiously as they pull briefly apart for air. It’s not gentle, or slow, but fuck it’s good.   
Lockwood kisses then bites the skin of Quill’s neck that’s accessible above the godamned turtleneck, Quill arches into it like he needs it, and god but that’s a heady feeling. 

He pulls back slightly and slides his hands over denim covered hipbones, works the tips of his fingers under the turtleneck until they graze hot skin. Quill gasps a bitten off noise when Lockwood scratches his fingernails lightly down, hisses  
“ Bastard.” 

But his voice is almost breathy, which Lockwood would tease him about if he wasn’t so busy trying to decide which he likes better; the way Quill’s hands tighten in his hair when his teeth graze a sensitive spot just under his jawline, or the noise he makes.   
He is glorious like this, angry and hungry and wanting, impatience competing with the desire in his eyes. 

Quill tugs his head back up and kisses him again, hands sliding to the lapels of his coat before shoving it off to his shoulders. Lockwood complies, working his arms out of the sleeves and dropping it over a chair. 

Quill’s eyes rake over his chest, and Lockwood smirks. 

“ Admiring the view?” Quill huffs disdainfully, which would be more convincing if he wasn’t also sliding his hands up Lockwood’s back. Through a shirt and waistcoat, the sensation is muted, and he wants more. 

He really, really likes the way Quill moves against him when he grazes his teeth over his throat. He likes it when Quill starts untucking his shirt, and sighs with pleasure when warm hands skim lightly over the skin of his back. 

He can’t help kissing him, can’t help pulling him close and pressing his thigh between his legs, can’t help the noise he makes when Quill rocks against him, panting slightly against his mouth, and why are they fully clothed in the kitchen again?

Making it up stairs while you aren’t paying a blind bit of attention to your surroundings is hard, but possible.  
They have to pause briefly on the landing when Quill, who’d been tracing Lockwood’s jaw and throat with his mouth, did something absolutelyfuckingincreadible with his teeth, and Lockwood briefly forgot how to walk.

He’s vaguely aware of his waistcoat being discarded. Oh well.  
He’ll get it later. Right now he’s busy pressing Quill against his bedroom door and learning exactly how they feel together. The answer is fantastic, but it could be improved by fewer items of clothing and more horizontal surfaces.


End file.
